


Where the falling angel meets the rising ape

by samchandler1986



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: Psuedo-philosophical debate in a prison cell.“Where the falling angel meets the rising ape” is the inimitable Terry Pratchett’s masterly summary of humanity, not mine.





	

“Do you ever think this is kind of ironic?”

Me scuffs her toe across the filthy floor. “What, incarceration?”

The cell they share is roughly five feet square. Not even enough room for them to lie down, short as they are. Although that’s not strictly a problem. Both of them are manacled to a wall.  

“Well, yes. But because we’re human.”

Me gives her a confused look; the kind the Doctor used to wear when she said things like “ _have you considered not being such a grumpy arse_?” or “ _maybe try not insulting our captors next time_.” Perhaps it’s a look all wise and ancient beings develop over time. Something she should look into, as the decades start to bleed into centuries. “What do you mean?”

“Are we?”

An owlish blink. “Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“We’re both _Homo sapiens_. That’s the whole reason their genetic scanners went haywire in the first place and landed us in these fetching accommodations.”

“Okay, genetically, yes. But is that what it really means to be human? A particular set of chromosomes?”

“It’s the definition of relevance to our current predicament.” Me sighs at Clara’s scoff. “Is this really how you want to spend the last few hours of our lives? In pointless pseudo-philosophical debate?”

“This from the woman recently returned from Eresos?”  

“Hardly relevant,” Me shoots back, a shade pinker than moments previous. “Anyway, I know you know Sappho was a poet not a philosopher.”

“The point still stands; you only go all scientific when it suits you.”

Me sags a little into her bonds. “Fine. Indulge yourself. What else is there to consider?”

“Mortality.”

Me frowns. “Few species escape death, Clara.”

“I know that. I just…” She rattles her chains as she tries to marshal her thoughts. “Don’t you feel kind of disconnected without it?”

Now her companion looks troubled. “Of course. Some of the worst decisions I’ve made have come from that disconnect. Not least the one that led you to your death. But that doesn’t make me inhuman. Far from it. And this, all of this…” She nods to the cell walls, but Clara knows she means the universe outside their foetid prison; the one they race pell-mell to explore.  “This all comes from your flight from death.”

Clara doesn’t both to deny it anymore. She’s not _scared_ to die, of course, it just seems like such a waste. “So there’s your answer. We are human, because death still shapes us.”

“No. We’re human because we marvel at the beauty of cold stars in the same way we do a pretty face. When someone pricks us, you and me, we don’t bleed. But do we get bloody angry. We’re still the holders of an evolutionary legacy that began with an anthropoid on Earth. Capable of so much that is elegant and timeless; still craving the carnal pursuits.”

“Where the falling angel meets the rising ape,” Clara says, with a smile.

“That’s a poetic way of putting it.”

“How human of me.”  


End file.
